


Souls of Decay

by BruisedBloodyBroken



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, Angel Dean Winchester, Big Gay Love Story, Falling In Love, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Protective Dean Winchester, Rating May Change, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester, Unrelated Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Unrelated Winchesters (Supernatural), grigori dean winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-23 20:29:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30061122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BruisedBloodyBroken/pseuds/BruisedBloodyBroken
Summary: FULL SUMMARY INSIDE!Post-apocalyptic AU. Mainly hurt!sam (because that's what I do)Dean's a Grigori(watcher-angel), Sam's having demonic powers(he's not a demon, but he's on demon-blood occasionally, he's having black eyes on ocassion, if that counts?), both hunt evil sons of bitches.An Angel & the demon-spawn falling in love ...What can possibly go wrong?I ALSO SUCK AT SUMMARIES, STORY-TITLES & NAMING CHAPTERS!!!
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Kudos: 8





	1. Introduction to the World of SOULS OF DECAY

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The Supernatural Fandom](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=The+Supernatural+Fandom).



> Welcome to yet another AU I've made up ;)  
> Rated this one "Teen & Up Audiences", that may change ...

** A/N: **

So, to be honest, I’ve NO IDEA if I am going to finish this one within an acceptable rage of time (unlike my other stories which I usually finish and then start to upload them), since it high likely is becoming one of my MAJOR-PROJECTS 😊 M.A.J.O.R.

I do have a vague idea about the plot ^^ AND, I’ll write this story as I go.

Besides I’ve quite some ideas about this idea I’ve had …

**Your Ideas are welcomed too, if you have one (two or three even).**

I became a sucker for Dean in S15EP4 (Endverse^^). And for Sam in S8 when he's got that long-hair-thing going on ^^

FURTHERMORE (I just love the way this word sounds and rolls and bounces off my lips):

The explanation how I imagine the story is written in a different style as I’m going to write the actual story (like all my other stories).

I ALSO SUCK AT SUMMARIES, STORY-TITLES & NAMING CHAPTERS!!!

That's how I imagine the world in

** Souls of Decay ** :

God's gone. He is for a long time now, after he set _them all_ free ...

After Lucifer was unbound from the cage releasing all Demons with him, Angels cast from heaven, and Purgatory's Leviathans spat out, it all went to hell on the planet Chuck had created.

Humanity and all the supernatural Creatures are doomed to be caught in the middle of a fight between Demons, Angels and Leviathans. There is no escape, as they wage war against each other, and try to get the upper hand over one of god's most precious creation. – Earth.

If it isn’t for hunters fighting for their kind, all human beings would've been erased from earth's face by now.

The big cities are destroyed, towns abandoned.

Most people are hiding away, staying in small groups, afraid they could be enslaved by any entities which had taken away their former lives.

Humanity is on the run, since none of the monsters which had stayed in the dark, would stay in the dark anymore. The whole world has become their hunting-ground, their all you can eat buffet, and all that keeps them from wiping humanity out, are the hunters who protect the few who are still left.

_~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~_

There’s this special kind of Angels, called Grigori:

Grigori ~ _Watcher Angels_.

The rebellious ones. The elite among the angels, supposed to watch over humanity, over god's creation, has long forgotten about their duties ...

They are scattered to the four winds, minding their own business. They've become that sort of monsters, hunters rate as their prey nowadays. It is common knowledge, that Grigori are feeding from the human's souls, juicing themselves up, and are eventually fighting their own fight.

At least most of them do. Like always there have to be exceptions.

And as it is, Dean Winchester is one of them. Because no matter in which one of Chuck's books he would choose to read about himself, he'd always be the rebellious one, never following the path god has foreseen for him. He will be never accepting the fate someone else has in mind for him.

_~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~_

Dean Winchester lives in the Bunker with his father John Winchester. So, since John’s his father, how come Dean’s a Grigori?

Yeah well, because he’s just that kind of awesome, folks, that’s why.

You may, or may not will find out about it when you read the story. Point is:

Dean’s a Grigori ever since he’s been born.

His mother died, when her deal with Azazel came due. She didn’t get dragged into hell by hellhounds. Nope. As we’re following the main-story of supernatural at some point, she died in a house-fire when Dean turned 4. Though, in this story, there is no little brother that needed to be saved. It was Dean wo was saved from Azazel all these years ago.

Well, and that’s when John started hunting back then. As long as Dean was little, he trusted no-one but Missouri with him, so that’s where he stayed most of the time until he was old enough to join the Family Business of Hunting.

Ever since he was 10, he’s on the road with his father. Of course, his father is/was like the John you see in the Series, but I don’t picture him that much of an ass in this story. I want him to be an awesome dad. Of course, he raised Dean to be a soldier and shit – just like in the original series, but after killing Azazel in revenge, he get’s softer. More like … a real Daddy …

John & Dean are hunting of course – but John’s not as grief-ridden as he was before Azazel’s death.

Anyhow:

John & Dean live in the men-of-letters-bunker. It’s their home-base. Mothership. THE Batcave. One of the last by men-built sanctuaries against all evil.

Very much to their appreciation, there’s this trench-coat-wearing Angel named Castiel with them in the bunker – YES, he sure will make an appearance too in this story. But I’ll put him on marihuana, because I think that’s easier to write and I kinda liked the Endverse-Castiel ^^

I may also let Charlie Bradbury live there – I kinda feel like she’s a wayward sister, so I need to include her ^^ What do you think? Wanna play a bit god in this story too? I promise, this could be fun …

Again, I’m drifting off from the topic at hand:

So, they live there, and they hunt, and they do research, and they want to ban all JEFFERSON STARSHIPS (leviathans) back into purgatory, cast the demons into hell and restore heaven’s angels upstairs.

THAT’S the plan. The great huge big goal of this story.

Though, if they will be able to manage that?

_~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~_

The End of the World …

Or rather … The End of the World as _they_ knew it – happened in 2010.

That’s when god (Chuck the guy with a real big sister-complex) decided, to flush one of _the lamest versions_ (his words not mine) he has created - about a tale of two bound souls finding their path which’d lead them together no matter what - down his hyper-universal toilet.

I practically RAISED THIS AU FROM PERDITION, for you. You know? It was a real dirty job, just so you know …

Anyways … There’s another thing you need to know about this.

And what (or rather who) else am I supposed to introduce to you guys, than SAM WINCHESTER.

Oh yes, whatever Chuck’s plans have been about this DRAFT he had dumped, Dean and Sam are wearing he same names, though they aren’t “related” in this story. So, I figure, that could be fun, right?

Anyways – I’m kinda loosing track of what I wanna actually tell you, so you can decide wherever to continue reading this story or not.

Onto Sam Winchester. THE SAM WINCHESTER, pretty please. He’s as **awesome** in his own kind of way. More like geek-awesome (geekosome) or nerd-awesome (nerdosome). He’s a hunter though. He’s living on Robert Singer’s Salvage ~ at least sometimes, but mostly in motels anyway. Bobby’s house is a place to crash after a hunt, or when he needs a break.

Sam Winchester does not know anything about his parents, since he’s been born different – just like Dean – but his spirit is not the one pumped up on angelic grace. He isn’t really a demon either, you know? But he kinda has demonic powers, and he sure as hell uses them when it is necessary.

Nowadays though – after the apocalypse and all the other shit that went down in the past – he’s more of the librarian-type of hunter.

Besides he does not exactly like the way he needs to feed his demonic powers (you know … demon blood & shit.)

Though, in this story, demon blood is not going to turn him into Lucifer’s super-sonic-vessel. Though he can get addicted to it, when the application is done on a regular basis.

Sam’s been there and he is very sure he does not want to go there again – ever.

Just so you know – It could happen, that Sam is going to be a smoker (I know some people don’t like smokers or smoking in general, that’s why I think I need to warn you about that).

Oh, I nearly forgot to mention the HUNTER’S NETWORK.

It’s no biggy though. The hunters usually operate in small groups connected to each other, exchanging information and monitoring Leviathan- Angel- and Demon-Activities all across the US.

There are a couple of hunter’s sanctuaries hidden all over the countries.

The brits have once been there when it all had started – but as we already know they didn’t stand a chance.

Now that we’ve settled our preferences, onto the story, shall we?

_~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~_

COMING UP SOON:

**_CHAPTER 1 ~ Saving Jerks, Hunting Bitches, The Assbutt Business_ **


	2. Saving Jerks, Hunting Bitches, The Assbutt Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like promised ~ here we go with the first chapter ;)

**_CHAPTER 1 ~ Saving Jerks, Hunting Bitches, The Assbutt Business_ **

Dean Winchester hated witches.

Not only because they used fugly things to work their witchcrafts, like blood (which was actually the lesser fugly thing to use), but also dead animals, organs and rotten things, where maggots were all over. But also, because they were simply witches.

Not hard to kill per say, but you’ve ever dealt with a witch’s fucking ghost???

Not to mention hex bags, spells, curses and other filthy stuff they were using to get someone to do, say or act in a way they wanted them to.

Those bitches were able to kill someone from miles away.

Not to mention, that they mostly were frustrated housewives who needed to spice up their reading circles. – At least they have been before the apocalypse. Now they were still frustrated, but mostly they weren’t that kind of housewives anymore they used to be.

Nowadays they were way more dangerous than they had been before everything went to hell.

So, not to mention how relieved Dean Winchester was, when it came to light, that it was no witch he had to take care of in Burr Oak, Kansas.

It’s been a demon though.

Being prepared to run into a witch’s rituals was not such a good thing, when the arsenal you were carrying with you was adapted to fight a witch, and not a demon.

Anyways.

Dean was a fast learner, and was flexible in what he had to kill, so there was no reason to panic over a low-rank-demon-bitch anyway. He only had to adjust.

Which meant, using his angelic powers, since that was his only weapon to not get ripped into shreds by some obscure creature.

Yes, D. W. had angelic powers – the one of a watcher-angel actually. Which meant they were not infinite, since they did not have that very special connection to heaven. Which meant he’d have to stock up on juice at some point, which actually pissed him off. Because it meant hunting down some human fool and draw it’s soul’s life-force from him (or her).

Which meant HOWEVER to find some human scum who did not deserve (at least in Dean Winchester’s eyes) a life.

Dean Winchester could also go without the powers. He really could. But it was making hunting way easier by being all powered up like those small pink Duracell-Bunnies.

Of course, he could also draw this force from plants or animals. _He could._ But he wouldn’t.

Because FIRST: Plants and that whole rabbit’s food didn’t hold a lot of force he could draw from, SECOND: Animals … well, really? He ate meat (he was the freaking meat-man), he hunted deer, but robbing that poor things from their lives so he could keep on killing bitches? Nope, thanks.

And then there was the THIRD reason: A human’s life force tasted extraordinary delicate.

Dean Winchester could also feed from a demon’s life-force. He could. But that rotten taste used to linger in him for days …

So. Here he was. Dean Winchester nailing a demon to the ground of an abandoned house in an abandoned city, with his powers. The hunter squat down beside the hissing and cursing creature, a spark of white in his all-so-emerald-green eyes. He grinned mischievously at the creature beneath him.

“We can do that the easy way.”, he said, his voice dangerous and raw. “Or the hard way.” He paused and tilted his head to the side, as he rubbed over his beard with one hand, holding his Taurus (loaded with consecrated bullets) in the other one.

“Fuck you, Winchester.”, the thing hissed, it’s eyes black as the darkest of nights.

His grin morphed into a sly one. “Every night before I lay my weary head to rest.” Dean pursed his lips and cocked both eyebrows. “Now … what’s it gonna be?”

_~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~_

The demon had been holding quite some information before it had spilled it’s guts all over the floor. (Well, not literally spilled, but it was close though.)

“Next Stop: Sioux Falls, South Dakota.”, Dean muttered with a determined stare, when he approached his sleek black ’67 Chevrolet Impala – the one and only true love of his damned life. He closed his eyes for a brief moment and stilled when he reached his beloved car. “Cas. Get your feathery ass to Singer’s Salvage, Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Meet me there in six hours.”, he said out loud.

_~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~_

Samuel Winchester was sitting on the stairs of the porch leading up to Robert Singer’s house, watching the sun set and vanish behind stacked cars.

Beside him, was a glass with golden-brown liquid and a pack of _Maverick_ s. On top of the pack of cigarettes rested a silver zippo which gleamed reddish and orange as it reflected the sun’s light.

Sam reached for the cigarettes and pulled one out, to tug it in between his lips only a moment later and he lit hit, sucking in a deep breath.

“Hope you’re gonna clean that up, boy.”, came a gruff voice from behind him.

A tired smile ghosted over the man’s face. “Sure.”, he said, his gaze cast at the abandoned cigarette-stubs on the ground between his boots.

It wasn’t like he was a chain-smoker. Though – after a particularly hard hunt he was smoking like an old iron horse and drinking more than he could actually take. Which was not as much as his posture would have led on.

“How’s your back doin’?”, Bobby asked and made a step outside, the wooden board under his feet creaking.

“Hurts.” Yeah, it’s been one hell of a hunt. He could consider himself lucky to still be alive.

“Figured. – Heard about other’s runnin’ into same kind of traps all over.”, Bobby crossed the short distance and sat down beside Sam, who took another long pull from the cigarette.

Sam reached over to the pack of cigarettes and handed it to Bobby.

The old man lightened one up for himself, then handed the pack back. “The others didn’t get out that easy though …” Bobby seemed to think, looking for the right words to say. “You had to … you know …”

Sam looked up and shook his head. “No. I didn’t drink demon blood to use my powers on a bunch of unholy creates.” He chuckled slightly amused. “Next time though – I think I’ll consider taking a vial with me …” He put out his cigarette and dropped it among the stubs on the ground.

“They knew who was coming for them.”, Sam said clinically, “They knew they’d need consecrated weapons to hurt me.”

Long shaggy hair was covering Sam’s bruised cheekbone and split lip. He tugged his hair back behind his ears, revealing an angry gash on his forehead and another bruise on his left jaw.

He then reached for his glass and took a sip of the whiskey.

“How could they know?”, Bobby asked, “I’ve never lost a word about you.”

“Probably someone – or something got away at some point? Maybe someone had been watching something and the rumor spread?” Sam shrugged. “We knew – someday – I can’t hide anymore.” He shrugged again.

Then there was silence for a long time between the both men.

“They got me good this time.” Sam shifted and winced when the movement tore on his bruised ribs. “Guess I’m out of practice too.”

“I’m glad you came back in one piece, son.”, Bobby smiled softly at the younger man beside him.

“Yeah … guess me too.” Sam looked over at Bobby, grateful for the older man’s spoken words. “What do you think? What’s all about that hunter-hunting? – Had the feeling they were looking for something. – Something on hunter-radio about missing artefacts or so?”, he asked.

Bobby shook his head and put his cigarette out too. He then bowed down and reached over, so to collect the cigarettes stubs. “Nothin’ on hunter-radio so far.”

“Bobby …”, Sam murmured telling him with the way he said it, that he’d clean his mess up by himself, and that he didn’t have to do that.

“Shut up, Idjit.”, telling Sam that he was hurt, and that he should let him do that. “Made sandwiches. – Ham, cheese, butter and pickles.” _… Because you have to be starving._

“Thanks’.” Sam responded to Bobby’s soft smile.

When the man had gathered all the stubs in his palm, he rose. “You shouldn’t go out there hunting on your own, kid.”, he said and patted the man’s shoulder gently. “Not anymore.”

Sam huffed out a breath. “You know I don’t do other hunters.” … not when he himself wasn’t quite human anyway.

“Just sayin’.”, Bobby murmured before he disappeared inside the house with a low curse on his lips.

_~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~_

Sam was stripping his _Colt_ _M1911A1_ in Bobby’s living room aka library. The whole floor was filled with the smell of gun oil which mingled with the scent of the old leathercloth he was using to get the components all cleaned up.

Bobby was reading in an ancient book, doing research for someone down in Kansas, on a possible case involving a wraith.

The night had already set over the land, so they had the lights switched on inside.

“We’re gonna need gas soon for the generator.”, Sam murmured rather to himself than to Bobby.

The older man glanced up briefly, before he returned his attention to the book. “Nah. Still three cans in the garage.”

Sam hummed, obviously not only cleaning his gun mechanically, but also calculating their resources in his head. “I’ll make a run tomorrow.”, he said, the wheels in his head working yet again on overdrive.

Not because of the general shortage when it came to gas nowadays, but also about the trap which had been set up – and in which he had run into without even wasting a thought on that there was a possibility that it could have been a trap at all.

Bobby made the we’ll-see-about-that sound followed by his I-don’t-think-so-boy look.

_~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~_

Outside the driveway towards Singer’s Salvage, a sleek black Impala parked on the gravely road.

Forest-green eyes took in the badly affected chain-wired fencing laden with amulets, engraved sigils and signs on them. Above the driveway an at least as badly decayed plate reading _Singer’s Salvage & Auto Garage. _

Beside him in the driver’s seat, a blonde man with huge bright-blue eyes was sitting. His expression not lesser tense than Dean’s.

“Are we sure about this?”, the blonde man asked and looked over at his friend.

“Sure, I’m sure, Cas.”, Dean snapped at him, cocking the gun in his lap, which had rested on his military-trousers-clad thigh before. “Rumors say the guy’s with Robert Singer.”

Castiel drew his bottom-lip up and blew out a long-drawn breath through his nose. “It still are _rumors_.”, the angel pointed out.

“The old man won’t even know what hit him. – We have to stop the demon before it kills Singer and whomever he’s harboring at the moment.” Dean explained. “We can’t afford to loose any more hunters to those bastards.”

“You are sure, that that man – who we do not even know if he does really exist – is a demon and that he is going to kill Robert Singer?”, Castiel seemed to need reassurance about what they were about to do. “And whomever he is harboring.”, he added then.

“ _Cas_.”, Dean said in his don’t-fucking-question-me voice.

“May we talk first and shoot later?”, the angel suggested after a moment of silence.

“What about you cut your weed-consumption shorter, smartass.”, Dean removed the safety of his Taurus, when he looked over at him with a daring look. “That shit makes you all cozy like a fabric-softener-teddy.”

“I do not use fabric-softener-“, he started to protest.

“Not literally, dude.”, Dean cut him off and eyed him expectant.

Castiel drew his Baretta from behind his back, which was tugged into his belt and showed it to the hunter. “Haven’t forgotten about taking her with me, _this time_.” He smiled broadly.

Dean only stared at him with the are-you-fucking-serious-look he was using frequently lately. Specially when it came to Castiel.

_~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~_

Sam perked up and stopped putting his weapon together. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Bobby.”, he said, as he rose slowly from the chair. He placed the shaft on the table ever so gingerly and his gaze wandered over to the threshold which led towards the corridor.

The older man looked up at his surrogate son and frowned. His frown deepened, when he watched the man slowly rise from the chair and lowering the component of his gun. Concern crawled into his grey-blue irises mirroring the vibes he received from Sam right now.

“What is it?”, Bobby asked, reaching for something under the table.

“I don’t know …”, Sam’s voice trailed off, when he moved around the table slowly. “Not yet … Get THE gun.”

Bobby drew THE COLT from under the table, because there was no fucking way something supernatural – besides maybe a high-rank-demon or human were capable of entering the house.

Sam’s eyes flashed black, white-blue fine tendrils broke through the black at their edges a moment later. Sam strained his ears, trying to hear. It was not some supernatural power he had there – it was only instincts leading him.

His eyes would change in color at some point without him noticing wherever he sensed danger close.

“Are you sure?”, Bobby whispered, cocking the gun, pointing-finger on the trigger.

“I’ll go get the injection-pen.”, Sam whispered back, taking off towards the kitchen and headed for the fridge silently. He kept his moves precise and completely controlled, every muscle in his body strained.

He opened the fridge and took one of the three injection-pens out, which reminded of the once a diabetic would use for the insulin. But instead of insulin they were filled with demon-blood and were meant to empty completely as soon as the button was pushed.

Not wasting any time, Sam removed the cap put the opening with the needle to his thigh and pushed the button, so the vial would empty in a matter of seconds. When that was done, he threw the pen aside and snuck back into the living-room aka library, where Bobby was lurking around the corner by the window.

“It’s _angels_.”, Sam murmured in his direction.

“What the hell?”, Bobby made that face he used to, when he was rather surprised, but somehow had figured it wouldn’t be as easy. “Angels?”

Robert Singer knew Angels were out there, and some were part of the resistance, but he had not yet come across one in person, and he dearly did not feel the need to do so.

“How many?”, the old man asked.

“Can’t tell.”, Sam answered and inched back, placing himself in the threshold. “We wait for them to come in?”

The seasoned hunter nodded. “Any other plan?”

“Maybe there’s a chance they’re here to talk?”, Sam looked back at his old friend questioning.

“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”, Bobby growled, actually asking him if he was alright in his head, “Ever heard of an angel knock on ya door to talk to you?”

Sam shook his head. No.

_~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BACON IS LOVE


	3. Light And Darkness

## Chapter 2 ~ Of Light And Darkness

Inside Bobby Singer’s house, there was absolute silence.

You could’ve heard a pin drop.

Bobby and Sam were exchanging looks, reassuring one another to stay put and just WAIT.

The suspicious creak of the lose floorboard on Bobby’s porch broke the silence, muffled by walls and the distance.

Sam’s eyes narrowed down on the front door, his muscles flexing under soft fabric, awaiting the inevitable.

Then, there was a _knock_. Once. Twice. Loud and clear, so not to be overheard.

Again, Bobby and Sam were looking at each other mere seconds.

Sam asking with cocked eyebrows. _What now?_

Bobby answering with a single shrug of his shoulders. _I have no clue._

Though, the old man did not lower the colt, if anything, his grip on the gun tightened, his fingers shifted as if to optimize its position in his palm.

Another row of knocks. This time more demanding.

Bobby gave his young friend a nod, telling him without words to go upstairs.

A stubborn and rebellious look came back as response, telling the bearded man that there was no way in heaven or hell he’d leave him on his own to deal whatever this was supposed to turn out to be.

Bobby repeated his nod, underlining it with a mouthed _GO_.

Sam blew out a sharp breath through his nose, showing his disapproval, but eventually decided to go with Bobby’s suggestion to take up his position upstairs.

They had an arrangement – if uninvited visitors would show up – Sam was supposed to take his position wherever upstairs, or in the basement.

Bobby telling him to go upstairs meant, he might need backup for this. Going downstairs into the basement meant therefore, he could handle shit on his own and Sam was supposed to hide away in the panic-room.

_Knocks_. Again. Even more demanding.

“I’m old but not deaf!”, Bobby yelled and tugged the gun behind his back into the belt, “On my way!”, und covered it with his shirt, watching Sam disappear and heading for the stairs, “Give me a minute!” There was a beat of silence, Bobby watched closely when Sam climbed the stairs. He knew the fourth one would squeak, so when his young friend reached the third one, he hollered: “Can’t have you see me in my fuckin’ pants, do I?” Loud enough to cover the squeak of stair number 4 and the croak of stair number 5.

Bobby thumped over to the front-door. Not too loud to make it sound obvious, but loud enough, so the loose stairs 8 & 9 wouldn’t give away, that there was someone else in the house with him.

When Bobby wrenched the door open, he was rather surprised of whom or rather WHAT was presented to him.

A blonde guy, blue eyes – bluer than the bluest sea – full pouty lips wearing a friendly smile.

Robert Singer cocked his eyebrows at the appearance before him. That was not quite what he had counted on to see.

The man seemed not to be weaponed to the teeth (nowadays Angels would be visibly equipped too, since they mostly were running low on grace).

“Yeah?”, he said gruffly, as he eyed the man, giving him a once-over, before he trained his gaze back at the man’s face. His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Hello. I am Castiel, I am from Kansas – Lebanon to be precise – and I would like to exchange Information with you regarding a man you might or might not know, and/or you are harboring in your sanctuary.” Castiel – still wearing that friendly smile, smelling like he’s rolled around and rubbed himself in a field of hemp-plants.

Bobby’s left eyebrow rose high on his forehead. He thought to know that the angel couldn’t get in without him breaking one of the sigils on the front door to keep them out in the first place. After all he didn’t have the opportunity so far to proof of their efficiency. But what he knew was, that the sigils were hiding away Sam and him and everyone else (who may or may not was) in the house.

“What about you tell me where the other asshole went you’re with, huh?”, Bobby asked, already reaching for the gun tugged into the belt of his jeans.

Castiel was opening his mouth to give the old man a rather unsatisfying answer, when the shatters and crunches from splintering glass and wood were heard, and a low thump echoed through the entire house, letting it’s walls vibrate with a force that led on that it was a rather unearthly impact.

A second later, Bobby drew the colt and pointed it right up into Castiel’s face.

_~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~_

Sam had taken his position upstairs where the staircase ended into a long corridor, his back pressed into the wall. _Listening_.

And then – in a matter of seconds – it felt like all hell broke loose.

The window at the end of the corridor, which led to the back of Bobby’s house, _burst_. Wooden laths splintered. The intruder, who flung himself into the corridor carried shards and splinters with him, as he rolled off the on the floor, and came to his feet in one smooth motion.

Sam whirred around, taking his stance in the middle of the corridor, white tendrils breaking, pulsating, through obsidian gems in the rhythm of his heartbeat.

Green irises with a white-blue inner circles locked on a pair of black ones.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”, Sam hissed through gritted teeth, as he brought his feet into a more defensive position to get himself ready to block whatever the angel would throw at him.

“You shouldn’t have mobbed-up a hunter’s base, bitch.”, Dean growled back, pointing with his Taurus right between Sam’s eyes.

Sam took a deep inhale, filling his lungs to the brim, and exhaled slowly, gathering the needed inner calm.

The Grigori made a step forward, his head tilted to the side slightly.

Sam held his own right where he was. “I won’t let you get him.”

Dean didn’t let the tall man out under his watch as he made another stride forward, checking him over, assessing him, figuring out which rank the demon had, calculating what it would take to bring him down without quite killing him, so they could have a talk (which actually meant Dean torturing the living shit out of him to get information about why demons were currently interested in luring hunters into traps big style).

“Won’t let me get who?”, Dean asked curiously – because as far as he could tell, there were only Robert Singer and the demon in that house.

“Stop fucking around.”, Sam growled at him. “Let’s get this over with.” Sam had merely ended his sentence, when he adjusted his weight and took off towards the angel.

Obviously Sam had been counting on the Winchester pulling the trigger.

So had Dean Winchester. But he was taken aback, when the bullet stopped midair only mere inches after leaving the barrel and clattered to the floor.

Wide green eyes starred at the rapidly fast moving predator coming right at him.

_~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~_

Bobby cocked the colt, the gun resting in his hand completely still. He didn’t tremble – despite the growing agitation within him.

“You cannot shoot me, old man.”, Castiel stated clinically.

“We’ll see about that, _Feathers_.”, Bobby retorted.

“Also, your sigils are useless, Mister Singer.” Castiel shrugged.

“Are they, little _Tree Topper_?” Of course, Bobby didn’t want to annoy the angel _… did he?_

The bearded man’s attention was partly drawn towards upstairs, when the noises of crushing furniture and an ongoing fight were heard.

Castiel sighed, rose his hand and snipped with his fingers.

That very moment, the sigils were starting to gleam and burn like charcoals. In the twinkling of an eye, Castiel was in Robert Singer’s private space, wrenching the gun out of his hand.

Bobby stumbled back a couple of feet, shocked. “SAM!”, he yelled, “The sigils won’t work!”, he hollered and made another step back. Which meant as much as they were supposed to get into the panic-room right the fuck now, because they would not be able to fight those bastards off.

“Robert, we do not intend to harm you.”, Castiel rose both hands, tugging Singer’s colt into the front of his jeans and then showed his palms to him. “We received Information about a Demon intentionally subverting your sanctuary.”

_They were after Sam_. They were hunters – or at least they worked with them. Everything snapped into place in Bobby’s mind just then.

“You’re workin’ with Charlie?”, he spoke flabbergasted.

Castiel nodded – obviously satisfied, that Bobby understood. At least Castiel seemed to think that Bobby was understanding what he was telling him and that he was just now getting aware of the danger he supposedly was in.

“Sam’s not a demon, Idiots!”, Bobby ground out. “He’s on our side.”, with that, the grizzled man took off and started to limp (because ever since he’s had that damn accident on a hunt in Flagstaff, his knee would hurt like hell) towards the staircase.

_~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~_

Upstairs, the fight went on.

Furniture got smashed, pottery broken, holes knocked into walls.

Sam had heard his friend yell – the indirect suggestion (rather order) to get his ass into the basement and the panic-room _asap_. Though, the situation at hand would not allow him that.

The green-eyed angel was blocking his way towards the staircase. – So, the very obvious to him was, to lure those bastards away from Bobby, the panic-room and the house, outside the yard, to buy his old friend time.

Buy Bobby time to get himself into safety. After all, Sam had demon-blood running through his veins right now, so he was well capable of taking care of himself.

Within seconds he had made up his mind, about how to get out of the house and onto the yard, which was spiked with different kinds of traps ever since the apocalypse and even before that, and if he was lucky he wouldn’t need to use his powers at all.

Lucky him, there were no obstacles behind him and the burst in wall which led to the back of the salvage.

Not so lucky him, the angel had got to him a couple of times. So, Sam was clutching a deep ugly cut across his stomach.

Bad thing was, that he had landed quite some nice plows at the angel, which left the asshole pretty much unimpressed, and that he would’ve needed more demon-blood to burn him out of his vessel.

Sam made a tentative step backwards, shards and wood crunching under his sock-clad feet.

“Don’t you dare.”, Dean growled at him, making a step forward, “I’ll get you anyway.”

“Come and get me, Jerk.” Sam chuckled mischievously as he inched further backwards.

Dean’s eyes narrowed, clutching the demon-killing-knife tight in his hand, its blade gleaming dangerously in the pale moon’s light. He knew the demon wouldn’t get far. He had wounded him. – A nice clean cut along his back and another one across his stomach.

The bastard could try and run, sure. But Dean Winchester was determined to capture this one and make it spill. And as everybody knew, a Winchester was hazardous. But a determined Winchester was even more dangerous than some high-rank-demon or a damn fucking Archangel himself.

“Surrender. – And I promise I’ll make it quick.”, Dean offered half-hearted. _… after you told me what I want to know …_

Sam made another step backwards. He needed to get closer to the hole in the wall. After all he wasn’t superman, and needed to – at least try – and land on the canopy of the garage in the back, so he wouldn’t break all his bones.

“I’ll never surrender.” Sam whirred around on his feet and took off in a sprint towards the end of the corridor and dove through the hole into freedom.

_~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~_

There were muffled voices upstairs. Bobby could hear Sam, and someone else talking. Then there were heavy footfalls, followed by a shot and a bone-shattering loud sound, which promised something heavy hitting a hard surface.

“Sam!”, Bobby yelled as he rounded the corner, shortly followed by the blue-eyed angel. The old man was panting and sweating as if he’s run a marathon, when he stopped dead in his tracks at the end of the stairs, and barely caught a fast movement from the corner of his right eye.

“Dean!”, Castiel yelled after the sprinting man, who was about to jump from the first floor through a hole in the wall.

Though, it was too late.

He was gone.

Castiel laid his hand on the bearded man’s shoulder. “You stay inside. I will go after them and talk to Dean.”

Bobby huffed out a breath. “The hell I am!”

Bobby shoved the man out of the way and made his way past the angel and down the stairs again.

Castiel was hot on his heels and when Bobby grabbed a shotgun on his way outside, the angel snatched it from his hands and told him they wouldn’t need it, besides it wouldn’t do any harm to either of them.

Well _, but it could slow him down_ , was Bobby’s response and snatched it back from the angel when they reached the porch.

_~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~_

Sam was running, staggering and more running, rounding stacks, sidestepping barriers and obstacles in his way.

He had home-turf advantage to outrun all the traps. And though, the angel was still hot on his heels – still _unharmed_.

Sam was slowing down by now due blood loss and the demon-blood wearing off already. He was starting to feel his injuries from earlier again and the new ones he had received from the Angel.

Time to try and find shelter or to take a stance. Surrendering was no option.

Dean exchanged the clip of his Taurus from consecrated bullets to the ones with the pentagram on them.

The demon couldn’t possibly last much longer.

Of course, Dean had wondered why the bastard hadn’t just smoked out by now. – Probably he’s bound himself to the vessel, or there was any other obscure reason for him not to.

Dean didn’t actually care about that. IF he refused to smoke out, it was only to his benefit as there was still a chance to catch that bitch alive.

_~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~_

In the distance, there was a yell heard, tearing through the night.

Sam stopped dead in his tracks, heavy panting, moaning, _listening_. Figuring out where the scream had come from. If it could’ve been the angel, but he was pretty sure he wasn’t that lucky.

Dean froze in place, straining his ears, trying to assess where the sound had come from, if it could’ve been the demon, if it could’ve been Castiel’s or Singer’s scream.

Bobby and Castiel stopped short too. Bobby pointing towards the driveway of the Salvage from where he thought the scream had come from.

“Demon-Trap.”, he whispered towards the angel. “Seems you’re not the only ones visiting tonight.”

Castiel tugged at his sleeve and let an angel-sword slip into his hand. “We need to find them. – Fast.” The angel’s features turned dead-serious.

_~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~_

Sam winced, leaning against a stack of cars, trying to catch his breath, trying to not pass out as white dots started to dance into his vision. His eyes had returned to their former appearance of hazel-green and brown inner circles.

“SAM!” Bobby’s voice carried over the yard. “Visitors on six o’clock!”

Short followed by: “Dean!”, yelled by Castiel. “He’s on our side!”

They were too far away. Only muffled noises in the distance.

Dean cursed under his breath, as he stood – back pressed up against a stack of cars – for cover, in one hand his Taurus in the other one the knife.

Sam still leaned in the same place, still trying to get himself to move.

Bobby and Castiel snuck along the course the two men had taken, the messed-up gravel, and stirred up dust in the air being their guide.

_~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~_

Dean Winchester rounded yet another corner of car-stacks, leveling his gun as he moved out from his cover.

“There you are.”, he muttered and aimed at the hunched over man, who was leaning against a wrecked car. “Gotcha.” He moved further, never leaving his target out of his sight.

Sam glanced up through long bangs of hair, still out of breath, still fighting for consciousness. He rose one arm in defeat, while he kept covering the wound to his stomach with his other one.

“Move.”, Dean waved his gun at him, gesturing to move away from the wreck.

Sam took a staggering step forward, moving slow, favorizing his right side. Carrying his own weight was starting to become slightly a challenge.

“Man. – I’ll give in.”, Sam panted. He may had lost the battle, but that didn’t mean he’s lost the war. He would never give in. He knew, sometimes you had to stay down, so you could come out greater than before.

Sam swayed. A shuddering exhale passed his lips, as yet another wave of pain washed over him. “You could’ve shot me. But you didn’t.”, he said panting, his knees becoming weaker every passing moment. “You want Information.”

“You’re a smart one, aren’t ya?” Dean chuckled. “I’ll take you home with me. Have a nice chat. Maybe some tea.” He couldn’t suppress that cocky smirk of his. Because he had won. And his price stood right before him.

Sam huffed out an amused breath. Well, the angel would be pretty pissed as soon as he’d figure out, that Sam wasn’t really a demon, and that there was no Information to be tortured out of him.

When he couldn’t hold himself up anymore, Sam fell to his knees, wincing when sharp gravel dug through his jeans.

He hurt. His whole damn fucking body was on fire.

_~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~_

“CAS!”, Dean yelled, uncovering his position. “Over here!”

“DEAN!” He heard the angel holler – his friend was close.

Shortly followed by Robert Singer’s “SAM! Hunters!”

Not that the whole yelling across the yard wasn’t enough, it was utterly irritating as well, as it didn’t seem to make sense what’s been yelled and what had been meant.

Sam perked up through his hair, his vision blurry and dark at the edges, but he could see enough to make the angel out.

“Hunter?”, Sam asked confused, “You’re a hunter?” He huffed out a breath in disbelieve.

Dean removed the safety from his gun in response, still pointing at the supposed foe before him.

“You shoot me, I’m dead.”, Sam slurred, using his former risen hand to brace himself up against the ground.

“Nah. No worries. – The bullet’s gonna paralyze you.”, Dean sighed, pleased to see that his prey wasn’t all sassy anymore.

“You put a bullet in my head.”, Sam spoke again, “It’s gonna kill me. No matter what.”, he trailed off, his last words rather unintelligible.

Dean Winchester had heard a lot so far. But this was definitely a new one.

“Drop the gun, son!”, someone hollered from behind the Winchester and he heard a shotgun being loaded.

Robert Singer knew, that rock salt wouldn’t harm the angel, but it would definitely draw his attention away from Sam and towards him.

Castiel stood right behind him. “Dean. – Don’t. – He is not a demon.”, the angel spoke and sighed as he walked past the bearded man, focusing on Dean.

“Dude, I saw his eyes.”, Dean did not lower the gun, nor did he intend to aim at something else but the man’s head before him.

“You shoot the kid, he drops dead.”, Singer warned, his whole-body tense, ready to pull the trigger. “He ain’t what you think he is.” A short pause. “His blood’s gonna be on your hands.”

“Dean.” Castiel’s voice was soft, almost loving, when he stood beside his friend and laid his hand on the hunter’s extended arm. “Lower your weapon. He is no threat.”

Dean looked over at him, exchanging a look and made a disapproving sound before flicking the safety back on, uncocking his weapon, and putting it back into the holster on his thigh.

Bobby lowered his gun too and half jogged half limped over to the young man on the ground. He kneeled down beside him and put a hand on his back between his shoulder-blades.

“You okay, son?”, he asked troubled as he checked him over, and tilted the kid’s chin up, to get a better look at his face.

“I’ll be.” His answer came a bit too late, a bit too slow and a whole lot of too slurred.

He was met with a pretty pale face, misty eyes and clammy skin to his touch.

Another scream tore through the night. Drawing their attention.

“Seven o’clock.”, Sam muttered; panting. “We can’t stay here. – Bobby. – They probably followed me.”

“Who followed you?” Dean sounded like the soldier he was, all rough and clinical and cold.

“Demons. - He ran into a trap yesterday. – Made it barely out alive.”, Bobby answered for him. “So. – What now? Are we gonna stay here and wait for them, or are you gonna help me and get us outta here?” He looked up, locking gazes with Dean, ready to punch him square in the face if he’d consider not to.

“How many were there?”, he asked, “Yesterday. How many demons were there?”

“Nine.”, Sam answered. “Too many.”

Dean took a second to overthink. “How many made it out alive?”

Sam glanced up at him – somehow embarrassed. “Nine.”

Dean took a deep inhale and bit his lower lip, thinking hard for a moment, before turning towards Castiel.

“Nine demons. Two down. – What’d you say?”, he asked, not to make a decision he might regret afterwards.

Cas shook his head. “I’m running low on grace.”

Dean looked back at Bobby and then at the young man beside him. Then again at Bobby, obviously weighing his chances with an old gimp and a wounded _something_.

“If we leave now, your sanctuary is lost, Singer.”, Dean stated, “They’re gonna tear it apart.”

Bobby straightened up in his kneeling position. “The salvage ain’t my only fortress of knowledge, boy. – I’ll live.” His side-glance at the young man gave away, that there were more important things to him than his house and the interior.

Sam made a disapproving sound. “I can’t leave _it_ here.” Sam looked up at Bobby, reached for the collar of his shirt and fisted it.

Bobby frowned. “WE can get _it_ later on. – They can’t reach it.”

“No. – I need to get it.” Sam was determined to not leave _it_ behind.

“You can barely stand, kid.” Bobby was not on board with it, Sam could tell.

“I can’t leave it. It’s too important, Bobby. No way I’m leaving it here.” No way he was going to leave _it_ at the mercy of a room’s warding, which may or may not would keep it away from whatever the demons would come up with in the meantime.

_~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you're still on board with this story? ... because ... I think ... you may are not ^^


	4. The Tablet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:   
> FIRST OF ALL:   
> THANK YOU, to kaylee11, Hirokaisan, enteselene, Claup_loves_pie, MandaMerea and 1 guest who’ve been leaving kudos so far.  
> ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
> 
> Yes, there are tablets. Which does not mean, that we’re doing sacrifices, opening rifts, and that kind of thing. But maybe we will.  
> Because, as I see it: There’s no god. He’s kicked out demons, angels and leviathans before he left, and I suppose he didn’t want them to go back to where they came from.   
> So there might not be a way to have them go back there.   
> Which means, the tablets may – or may not – provide other information on how to get rid of them …?

## Chapter 3 ~ The Tablet

Dean followed their whispered conversation patiently. “What ‘re we talkin’ about, guys?”

Sam gave him a stern look through bangs of brown hair. “We won’t give it to you either.” No one was supposed to be in _its_ possession. No one, Sam Winchester didn’t trust with his life.

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “We don’t have time for that shit.” He stared down at the man. “ _How_ important is it.”

“It’s worth my life.”, Sam answered, not leaving any doubts about what he was saying. “I’d die protecting it.”

Dean gave him a curt nod. “Where do I find it?”

Sam staggered to his feet and straightened up as good as his condition allowed him to. “I’ll go with you. You’ll need me for this.”

Dean considered it.

“We can stand here and discuss this unnecessarily, or we do this. _Now_.”

“Sam.”, Bobby wanted to protest, but got stopped by a determined look. “There’s-“

“No.”, Sam stopped him verbally. “You know only I have access.”

Dean eyed the both men, asking them if they were serious. “ _Peachy_.” He turned his attention to Cas. “You and the old man are going to get the car. – Me and Demon-boy are going to get whatever’s _that_ important.”

Cas gave him a curt nod.

Bobby laid his hand on Sam’s shoulder drawing his attention. “You come back in one piece, or I’ll kill you.”

Sam nodded at him, then cast his look at the angel. “Let’s do this.”

_~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~_

“So, what the hell are you?”, Dean asked, as they watched Bobby and Castiel disappear in the alley to their left.

Sam definitely did not trust him. “I’m your worst nightmare.” He kept on pushing his left arm against the wound on his stomach to ease the dull aching pull.

Dean Winchester honestly doubted that. “Yeah, well, kiddo. You sure don’t look that way.”

“Fuck you.” Sam took off towards the house.

Dean followed; his weapon drawn again. “What did you even think back there? Coming at me without a weapon?”

“I’m the weapon.”, Sam answered.

Dean suppressed a laugh. “Sure, you are.” Giving him a once over and shook his head. “Didn’t look that way.”

“Shut the fuck up. – They’re gonna hear you.”, Sam hissed, as he snuck around yet another corner.

They stayed silent, causing as little sounds as humanly possible (they weren’t quite human, but on the other hand: The demon-blood was wearing off already, and Dean wasn’t juiced up either, besides that, they did not have superhero-powers.)

_~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~_

Dean’s eyes narrowed, when the house came into few before them. “Wait.”, he reached for Sam’s shoulder and held him back.

Sam stopped and looked back over his shoulder. “I know. There’s one inside.”

Dean gave him a nod. “I’ll go first, you stay back.”

He was about to brush past Sam, when the younger man’s arm came forward and held him back. Their gazes met and Sam nodded towards his left.

“Down.”, he said and nodded to his right. “The whole yard is riddled with traps. – And you’re going to walk right into one.”

Sam squatted down. “You follow me. – Angel or not, some of the traps are meant to kill, some to slow down, and other ones to die a wretched death. – This one-“

Dean followed his example.

“This one-” Sam motioned towards his left and right. “Is going to pump you full with consecrated angel-blade shards.”

The hunter eyed the wrecked car to his left and the one to his right. He couldn’t make anything out that could probably _trigger_ anything.

“It’s a spell, dude.”, Sam explained, “There’re sigils painted on the doors of the cars with fluorescent color. If you get in tween them … _BOOOM_.” He gave the angel a second to process that.

Dean made a eulogistic gesture. “ _Nice_.”, he whispered.

After a moment Sam motioned towards the house. “In the basement is a room. – The room is sealed. Getting into it isn’t THAT hard. – But … To get out again, it is, unless you’re me.” He kept his voice low.

“Fine.” Dean thought for a moment, his jaw set, his eyes trained on Sam, trying to figure the guy out. With a sigh, he held his demon-killing-knife towards the younger man.

“Keep it.”, Sam adjusted in his position and took a few steadying breaths to yet overcome another wave of hot searing pain.

“Sure?”, Dean rose both eyebrows at the man beside him.

“Told you I won’t need it.”

Dean did not quite believe him, but he let it slip.

Sam nudged him in the shoulder and started to move towards the house, holding himself close to the ground.

Once they had reached the porch, Sam straightened up again and pointed at the board in front of the door, so Dean wouldn’t step onto it either.

Dean didn’t.

Once inside, Sam snuck into the corridor which led to the basement with Dean covering his rear. They then vanished behind the wooden door without as much as a creak when it got opened. Once downstairs, Sam aimed straight for an iron door. He turned the wheel until a snap was heard and he stemmed his body against it to shove it open.

When they were inside, Sam strode straight for a shelf on the opposite side. Dean kept watch in the middle of the round room, assessing it with a single sweep of his look.

“What’s this?”, he asked curiously.

“Bobby’s panic room.”, Sam answered panting, as he pulled a duffel bag from the shelf and slung it over his shoulder.

“ _Nice_.”, he muttered – but it actually was nothing in comparison with the bunker of course. He stole a glance at the man, who was limping back towards him. “Are we done?”

Sam nodded.

Dean was about to take off towards the heavy iron door, when it flung closed. Stuttered, he stopped and looked back at Sam, who was already coming in his direction.

“It’s sealed.”, Sam answered, when Dean glanced back at him with the _and-what-now-look_.

Tiny pearls of sweat lingered on Sam’s forehead, his hands shaking. He extended his hand towards the hunter. “Knife.”

A rather curious look followed. _You-didn’t-want-it-earlier-but-now-you-do?_

“Not the one which’s supposed to kill me, Jerk. – Give me the other one.” He gestured towards the knife in Dean’s belt.

Dean gave it to him. “You won’t faint at me, will ya?”

“Men don’t faint.”, Sam gave back and cut his wrist open. Not deep enough to do permanent damage, but deep enough that it would give enough blood for its purpose.

Without a word he handed the knife back to Dean, brushed past him and began to hastily draw a sigil onto the iron door, all the while murmuring ancient words.

When he was done, he gave a half-hearted “Christo” and pulled the door open.

“That’s it?” Dean seemed to be slightly disappointed.

“You expected fireworks or somethin’?”, Sam asked with a huff.

“Yeah, well, I at least expected SOMETHING, kiddo.”, he answered and shook his head.

“There are quite some spells you can do in silence. – So not to draw attention.” Sam didn’t spare him a look when he stepped outside. “Besides.” He stopped and gave him a brief look. “Don’t call me _kiddo_.”

When Sam directed his look back towards where they had come from, there was a man standing in his way. At least as tall as Sam in a black suit and white shirt, a sly grin on his face.

“Mighty nice of you to get the tablet for us.”, the man said, his grin widening.

“If you want it, come and get it.”, Sam growled, all broad shoulders and feral expression on his face.

The man’s eyes flashed black, short before he went for Sam.

But he only came as far as Sam’s arm reached, having the demon by its neck before it could make a fatal move.

Dean stepped out of the room, weapon drawn, ready to pull the trigger. His weapon lowered, slowly as he watched the scene before him unfold though.

Sam having the demon by its neck.

The demon writhing and making choking and muffled noises.

Black smoke came pouring from the demon’s mouth and instead of ascending, it got drawn towards the ground.

The smoke seeped through the cracked concrete beneath them.

When Sam let go of the lifeless body, it slumped to the floor, and Sam nearly went down with it, if it hadn’t been for the green-eyed angel stopping him mid-fall as he slid his arm under Sam’s shoulder.

“Woah, easy there.” He grunted and pulled Sam back into a standing position – more or less successfully.

“Guess you should’ve used the knife though.”, Dean grunted, as he pulled Sam’s arm around his shoulders to steady him.

Sam was about to pull away, but the angel didn’t let him. “Don’t be a bitch about it.”, Dean ground out and slung his arm around the taller man’s waist.

“The kitchen.”, Sam panted and sniffed, feeling warm droplets of blood tickle in his nose. “fridge.”

“Is it as important as your duffel with pink under-panties?”, Dean asked, because if it wasn’t, they wouldn’t waste any more time.

One demon came rarely alone and as far as he could tell, there had to be seven more of them around.

“No.” Sam seemed to be honest.

“Good.” Because he sure didn’t want to spend time on getting something that wasn’t as important as the thing the man’s been hiding; and on what a bunch of demons wanted to get their hands onto too.

_~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~_

Dean managed to wrestle Gigantor upstairs, and through the corridor, when the younger man’s legs gave out under him, and Dean barely kept him upright.

“Dammit.”, he cursed audibly, “Don’t pass out on me, buddy.” Dean adjusted his hold on the man and rather dragged than walked him towards the porch, already hearing the low rumble of his Baby. “Jesus – you’re heavy.” Dean kept on ranting. “What the hell does old-grumpy feed you.” More ranting. “Dude, you should cut down on the sweet stuff.” Even more ranting …

Once they reached the porch, the Impala got into few, three corpses seamed their way.

Baby’s engine was running.

Castiel was standing at the passenger’s side with his angel-sword in hand.

Bobby was at the other side of the car, he too weaponed with one of Castiel’s spare blades. When he targeted the men on the porch, Bobby hurried around the car and wrenched the door to the backseat open.

Then he was at Sam’s other side, slipping his arm around him, taking some of the weight off of Dean as they walked the man towards the car. Once there they positioned the barely conscious man into the backseat.

Castiel was already getting in on the passenger’s side, while Bobby and Dean rounded the car.

Bobby crawled in behind the driver’s side and Dean slid behind the steering wheel.

_~*Apple Pie & Bacon*~_


End file.
